


Samhain

by Fanlan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Multi, Possession, Some light horror themes, the demons eventually love Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: When the anti-Christ reset, so did Ligur and he’s been in a state between life and death, stuck between one timeline and another since. He finally finds a way back on All Hallows Eve when an angel accidentally summons him.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Samhain

A splatter, a half-formed threat to Crowley and nothing. 

Those were the things Ligur knew. 

Everything else wasn’t right, shifted and blurred. A glance and he saw that fool Crowley being yanked from his angel and led to his execution. A blink and he found himself on the still very alive London Streets, he snarled towards the Nightingale singing above him in…Berkley Square? That wasn’t right. 

No time to adjust to it morphing into Crowley’s living room, his splattered remains still there, still festering underneath a bucket where he had been left forgotten. The angel’s delicate touch running along the top and his gurgled words. 

“Don’t touch…clean…are…alright?” 

Crowley’s words however rang clear as the sunlight peeking through heavy blinds. 

“Never better. It’s just Ligur he didn’t mean anything to anyone.” 

Nothing. That’s right. That’s what he was now. That couldn’t be what he always was. 

Hastur’s smoke wafted before him, slicing through the air he was, the nothing he was. He sat alone in a graveyard, perched atop a crumbling tombstone. His name a whisper among the inhale of smoke.   
He didn’t mean anything now, but he did. 

; 

Very near and yet very far from where Ligur disappeared in and out of reality, Aziraphale the angel who had given Ligur his death sentence, had the demon in question permanently sown to the back of his thoughts. Even now working with his dear friend on Halloween Decorations for tonight’s séance and Halloween Celebration.

Aziraphale smiled brightly to Madam Tracy, offering her his hand to safely step from the rickety step ladder she stood on. She ignored his hand a moment, frowning at the hand-crafted bats, skulls, and pumpkins. 

“What do you think, love?” 

Aziraphale puckered his lips and stared around the room. It wasn’t spooky as Crowley would have liked it (the very reason he named in not joining them this evening) but it had a childish gleam to it. He was certain the children and their parents would be pleased by the silly decorations, but Anathema was less likely to be impressed by the purple bats, smiling pumpkins and smokey pink spider webs hung with care. He had a certain feeling she would have the same feelings as Crowley about this kind of thing. 

“I think they shall love it, Madam.” 

She chuckled and gently patted him on the shoulder. 

“Yer getting better at lying, lovely.” 

Aziraphale felt himself turning a bright pink and turning his face away, he knew deep down they would all complain about the lack of spooky as Crowley had been. 

; 

Hastur knew hate. 

He was exceptionally good with this feeling. It was the first feeling any demon knew how to properly extract from, let fester exactly right and unleash it on those who least expected it. This was a different kind of hate then he was used to. It was a general state of hating everything to varying degrees, it was a hate all directed at one bastard. 

He stood like he had stood for many nights after Ligur had been ripped from him, across the street glaring up at the apartment where his partner had met his end. Where one bastard had executed him. Ripped his Ligur from him permanently just so he could fraternize (no no much more intimate then that) with some Satan forsaken angel! 

“No honor among demons,” he hissed towards the building he didn’t come closer to (he was too cowardly to come closer to). 

“Sorry to disappoint, but there never existed honor among the damned,” a cocky voice chuckled but Hastur couldn’t face it (coward a voice hissed again). 

He didn’t move as the flash bastard himself swept past him, that same smug smile on his lips. Those same shades hiding the gleam in his eyes as he tormented his former supervisor.   
“I’ll give you fair warning.” 

Hastur still couldn’t face him even with his breath menacingly against his neck and his arm thrown in a casual manner over his shoulder. Maybe it would have been seen as friendly to any passersby but Hastur saw the claws growing from his fingertips. 

“You want to do anything but lurk near me or my angel and you will be a puddle like old Ligur.” 

He parted ways from the Duke at the threat, sauntering across the street and into his building in that flashy way he did. Hastur snarled low under his breath and continued to hate in that painfully personal way he did now and lurk. 

Not seek revenge, he was loyal to his prince and such an act was forbidden but he could dream. If the chance ever came to him and it was an accident, well that wasn’t against any rules. 

; 

Ligur continued to drift seeing Aziraphale and his preparations, Hastur and his lurking and Crowley the flash bastard himself snarling more threats to his plants as he paced and planned. 

He felt something shift in him, feeling something for the first time, a pull towards the gathered group of friends who had averted the world’s end. They were calling him. He felt that pull towards the angel who had guilt of his death in the back of his mind and he felt what might be joy. 

Things were changing at last.


End file.
